P8 

3511 
.<yi8M4 



^ / 



M 



THE MELLOW YEAR 

A Man's Songs of Friendship 





Bnok, <2P/f>f4" 

CQJQOUGiir I]£K)S1& 



THE MELLOW YEAR 

A Man's Songs of Friendship 



BY ,^ 

JAMES W. FOLEY 

Author of "Boys and Girls," "Tales of the Trail, 
"Voices of Song," "Friendly Rhymes," 
"Songs of Schooldays," "The 
Letters of William Green" 



PASADENA, CALIFORNIA 

The Author's Press 

1921 






^'V^ 



^^1'\ 



Copyright, 1921 
By James W. Foley 



3)CI.A627629 



NOV -7 1921 



^«2> / 



The Lovin'est Child 



He's th' lovin'est child 

That you ever did see. 
Since the first time he smiled 

His glad smile up at me. 
He's th' soul of real mirth 

And th' Lord must have smiled 
When he came to this earth. 

Just th' lovin'est child. 

He's th' lovin'est boy. 

He's so friendly and glad. 
Of his mother the joy. 

And the pride of his Dad. 
He's as soft and as sweet 

As a Spring day is mild, 
From his head to his feet 

Just th' lovin'est child. 

He looks up with a grin 

And he gurgles his tunes 
From the cradle he's in. 

And he chuckles and croons; 
And he lifts up his arms 

To his Mother or Dad, 
He's just brimming with charms. 

Just th' lovin'est lad. 

Since the day that he came. 

And we looked on his face, 
Well, the world's not the same. 

It's th' splendidest place 
Out o' Heaven, I know. 

Yes, th' Lord must have smiled 
When he fashioned him so. 

Just th' lovin'est child. 

Just th' lovin'est child. 

With his glad eyes that shine. 
Like a Spring sunbeam mild. 

With his cheek against mine. 
See him tumble and roll — , 

How th' Lord must have smiled 
When he breathed in th' soul 

Of that lovin'est child. 



"THE FAMILY" EDITION 

To the Children of the "Fam- 
ily" of San Francisco, Califor- 
nia, with the friendliness of 
one of the "lovin'est children." 



SONGS OF FRIENDSHIP 



The Mellow Year 1 

Unafraid 7 

The Legacies 9 

Forgot 11 

On the Square 13 

Loving — That's All 15 

What Might Have Been 17 

The Grief 18 

The Potter and the Clay 20 

Father William to Date 22 

Brothers 24 

Hospice 26 

Lost 29 

No Man's Land 31 

Knowledge 33 

Brothers of Men 34 

A Little Song 35 

My Neighbor and I 37 

Just Between Us Two 39 

Just Being Kind 41 

The Little Things 43 

The End of the Road 45 

Let's Play a Little While 47 

A Brother of Mine 49 

A Pretty Good World 51 

Things a Man May Do 53 

A Very Little Song 56 

Just Around the Corner 58 

The Understanding 60 

To Meet the Day 62 

Virtue 64 

Peep o' Dawn 66 

Singing Along 68 

Keep Sweet 70 



An Epitaph 72 

When a Feller Makes Good 74 

The Newsboy's Friend 76 

Lend a Hand 79 

A Field of Clover 81 

Hymn of Praise 85 

Song of Hope 86 

Cherry Blossom Time 87 

Mahmoud of Ispahan 92 

A Song of Every Day 95 

Song of Friendship 96 

The Place of Broken Things 98 

Unfit 100 

The Secret 101 

Before the Winter Came 103 

The Masquerade 105 

Tomorrow 108 

Yesterday 110 

Last Verse of All 112 



THE MELLOW YEAR 



The Mellow Year 



I been sittin' here tonight 
Dreamin' as by candle light; 
Kind o' thinkin' — just about 
Fur an' wide as all get-out; 
Nothin' deep an' hard to do, 
Just about th' same as you 
Might if you was joggin' slow 
Back some forty years or so 
On the way of Life. An' say! 
She's a good world, anyway. 
Good to travel, in an' out. 
Good to learn an' think about, 
Good to dream of an' t' smile. 
Good to wonder what's worth while. 
Good to lend a helpin' hand, 
Better still, to understand. 

'Pears like Wisdom, she ain't done 
Much for us at twenty-one. 
Feller's got book-learnin', too; 
Knows what makes the sky so blue, 
Knows what makes it rain an' snow, 
Knows why everything is so. 
Lord, how he does love to spout 
Streams of straight book-learnin' out; 
Educated just immense, 
Full of knowledge, but no sense ; 



The Mellow Year 



Wave his hand in air just so, 
Ready for to overthrow 
Empires, continents and kings. 
All the old, established things; 
Feller'd think, to hear him scold, 
He's th' judgment book unrolled, 
Passin' wisdom's last decree 
On th' world, an' you an' me. 

Well, tha>t's Youth; an' I recall 
Mine, and how I knowed most all 
Of th' things from Genesis 
Clean to Revelations. Yes, 
Ready to stand up an' throw 
Rocks at Solon, Cicero, 
Plato and Demosthenes 
An' such little lights as these. 
Pass my judgment quicker'n scat 
On th' truth of this an' that, 
Spillin' wisdom from my cup 
Quicker'n worlds could soak it up. 

Youth, since then, I've kind o' found, 
Youth ain't got no middle ground. 
Goes whole-hog or none a,t all 
On all questions great an' small. 



The Mellow Year 



Measures like they do in school 
Life with Learnin's three-foot rule, 
Every question's got to be 
Settled with a Q. E. D. 

Old Book-Learnin's three-foot rule 
Comes in mighty good in school 
I'll allow, an' has its place 
But it ain't th' human race 
By no means, and Life don't look 
Like it's printed in a book. 
An' I'd like a rule to show 
What makes certain fellers so; 
Why some husky, strappin' lout 
In th' fight goes down an' out, 
While some runty little jay 
Lifts the Flag and leads the way. 

Ain't no learnin' will amount 
To a bean-hill that don't count 
Human bein's as they be 
X for unknown quantity. 
Ain't no learnin' is complete 
That don't keep a feller sweet, 
Ready to come 't least half ways, 
Kind o' keerful what he says, 



The Mellow Year 



Always more'n half inclined 
To be merciful and kind, 
Willin' to admit that he 
Might be wrong and to agree 
With th' 'leven rather'n stay 
Sot in his own stubborn way. 

Life ain't some book-learnin' fact 

Mathematically exact, 

And don't foller no set rule 

Like a feller learns in school. 

And when he learns that he's come 

To be educated some, 

Was a time once when I'd pass 

Judgment just like pullin' grass 

On my neighbors — knowed just what 

Orto be and orto not. 

But as years have gone somehow 

I don't judge nobody now, 

And I don't want none to be 

Always ready to judge me. 

Thirty's better'n twenty-one; 
Wisdom's kind 'o just begun 
Then — a feller's gettin' ripe 
Like a year-old meerschaum pipe 



The Mellow Year 



That you've smoked along and brung 

Where th' smoke don't burn your tongue. 

An' y' sort o' like to squint 

Down th' bowl and get a hint 

How th' color's goin' to show 

In a couple years or so. 

Then there's Forty — I dunno, 

Forty ca'ms a feller so, 

Makes him mellow like an' mild, 

More th' sperrit of th' child. 

He just wants to love an' live 

Help a little an' forgive, 

Find what's really Happiness, 

Feel contented like with less. 

Judgment ain't as quick an' stern, 

Willin'er I think to learn; 

Much more ready to admit 

T'other feller's view of it. 

Even if 'taint his idee, 

Leastways it seems so to me. 

Understandin' ! That's th' thing ! 
Ain't no book'll ever bring 
That. You're got to hit th' road 
Carryin' a real man's load. 



The Mellow Year 



Struggle as a feller must, 

Throat plumb dry an' choked with dust. 

Bein' tempted, slippin' some, 

Needin' help but bein' dumb. 

Hopin', prayin', wonderin' what 

May be Truth an' may be not. 

Wantin' sympathy an' cheer, 

Wishin' There was only Here. 

Needin' to be understood 

As a feller half-way good, 

Fightin', strivin' as men do, 

Failin', just like me an' you, 

Great sometimes an' sometimes small. 

And just human after all. 

Somethin' 'bout it, I dunno, 
Forty ca'ms a feller so, 
Leastways it seems so to me. 
Hope at fifty I can be 
That much milder and more kind, 
More to mercy's ways inclined. 
That much gladder just to live. 
That much readier to forgive. 
Fifty — may be them'll bring 
Understandin' — that's the thing! 



Unafraid 



I've got to go on 
Till the last dream is done. 
Till the last song is gone, 
Or the last fight is won; 
Till there dies the last spark 
Of the fire in the dusk, 
'Till the last star is dark. 
Till I've gnawed the last husk 
Of defeat, of regret. 
Till the last sigh is stilled, 
Till I've paid the last debt, 
Till the last drop is spilled 
From the goblet of Hope, 
Till the last breath is gone; 
I may stumble and grope 
But I've got to go on. 

I've got to go on 
Till the last prayer is cried, 
Till the last light has flown, 
And the last dream has died; 
Till the last breath of me 
Has been spent in the fight. 
Till the last day to be 
Has been shrouded in night. 
I may faint, I may fall, 
I may tremble and fear, 



Unafraid 



But the clear trumpet call 
To the fight let me hear! 
Give me courage to rise, 
Give me strength to revive 
Every faint hope that lies 
On the field where I strive ; 
For the battle seem lost, 
And the last chance seem flown, 
What the struggle may cost, 
Still I've got to go on. 

I've got to go on; 
I may fall, I may fail, 
I may die ere the dawn 
Lets me look on the Grail, 
Gall may brim me a cup, 
Fate may spike every gun. 
But I won't give it up, 
I won't quit, I won't run, 
I won't cry truce or yield. 
How the fates on me frown, 
They may strip off^ my shield 
But I won't lay it down 
Till the last veil is rent. 
Till the last day's at dawn. 
And the last breath is spent, 
For I've got to go on. 



The Legacies 



Earth — you have given me much; cool turf and flowers, 

Great trees; wide meadows, where in vagrant hours 

I lay in shade or walked in clover sweet; 

Aye, you have given me place to rest my feet 

Secure and sure; and you have given me air 

To breathe; and beauty; of your store my share 

Has been a generous gift; my every mood 

You've nourished; you have given me drink and food, 

Bird-song, the dawn and twilight; odors soft 

And fragrant; and a grassy couch where oft 

I lay and looked up at the stars that bade 

My soul arise, serene and strong and glad. 

So when I come to say my last good-night. 
See my last sunset fade upon the sight, 
I shall leave you the dust of me to make 
A flower the more perhaps for beauty's sake. 

Time, you have borne with me for long and lent 

Me hour on hour where tears and smiles were blent 

In mellowed sweetness; you have given me days 

When gladness loved me all the many ways 

She knows to love; and you have comforted 

My grief and helped me lay my hallowed dead 

In flowered gardens of my memory 

To rest till I shall lie where they may be; 

What sorrows you have taken from me, and stings. 

While keeping for me ever all the things 



The Legacies 



I loved and cherished; how you gave me youth, 
And manhood, ruddy-red with life, and truth, 
Years now serene and ripe like fruit made sweet 
With sun and showers and summer's mellowing heat ! 

So when upon the hilltop we shall stand 

To say good-by with each an outstretched hand, 

I leave you what good deeds I may have wrought — 

'Tis little, but 'tis all the wealth I've got. 

And Friend, my Friend of all those good, glad years. 
Who gave me smiles for smiles, and mingled tears 
With mine when sorrow supped with me, and dread, 
Who ate of my dry herbs and bitter bread, 
Who walked with me upon the stony ways. 
Bathed my bruised feet, nor ever found our days 
Too short for sympathy, nor once too long 
For bearing half my burden; you, whose song 
Rang in my ears when days of mine bereft 
Of all but you, as though a pearl were left 
In Life's bad, bitter cup the while, and then 
Just by the taste of you grown sweet again — 

When I shall say good-by, then I shall weave 

A garland of those days of ours and leave 

You this for Memory — and you shall take 

This greatest treasure of mine for Love's own sake. 



10 



Forgot 



I had a friend — a very precious friend ; 

I thought one time, long gone, to tell him so. 
His were the homely qualities that blend 

In human sweetness; I am sure you know. 
Perhaps you have, a friend like that, whose days 

Were simple and serene; he was so blind 
To little faults; his were the flowered ways 

Of fellowship, and Oh, he was so kind! 

I thought to tell him all of that; to say 

What oft I cherished in my secret heart; 
How I was better always for the way 

He tempered me with mercy and fine art 
Of being true and gentle, and yet strong 

With very gentleness of courage, too. 
Who met my sharp complainings with a song — 

Yes, he was kind and gentle and so true. 

Yes, he was such a friend as that, upsprung 

From days and nights of struggle, on a plan 
Of human tenderness and Fame had sung 

Of him this, and this only: "Here's a man! 
She has no nobler eulogy to say — 

A man by every deed and word and thought. 
Rich with rare richness, tempered in that way 

That gold is to its purest fineness wrought. 



11 



Forgot 



I thought to tell him — and I said, again, 

And once again: "But surely he must know!" 
(These are the halting, awkward ways of men) 

And I held silence nor I told him so. 
These things I say to you, with all the love 

I had for him, but somehow did not tell; 
My heart was truly Friendship's treasure-trove, 

But it was hidden far too deep — and well! 

Once I took roses — red ones, in my hand, 

And laid them by him — laid them by him near; 
Laid them there at the very borderland 

Of life — or death — who knows what may be here? 
I laid the roses there, uncomforted. 

The while my tears fell, waste and burning hot, 
Then knelt in the dim silences and said: 

"Here are the roses — those I had forgot!" 



12 



On the Square 



To be just as I am 
In my world, every day, 
Without pretense or sham, 
To mean just what I say. 
To be square in my talk, 
To look true with my eye; 
To go straight in my walk 
And to aim middling high. 

To be real — that's the thing, 
To be real and be true; 
Not to squirm at the ring 
Of the metal in you; 
Not an echo or shade 
Of somebody to be. 
But to know that I'm made 
Of the substance of Me. 

To live up to the bills, 
Nothing less, nothing more, 
Without tinsel or frills. 
With my best foot before; 
To cash in all my chips 
Any hour of the day, 
With a smile on my lips. 
Glad they asked me to play. 



13 



On the Square 



To sit down and rejoice 
At my grate, in my way, 
Not afraid of the Voice 
That inquires of my day; 
Just to know that I played 
In the game and was fair. 
Didn't trick, didn't trade, 
Won or lost on the square. 

Just to know that the core 
In the middle of me 
Is no festering sore 
I should shudder to see; 
To be garbed with no cloak 
That's all pretense or sham; 
Just to dare go dead broke 
But be just as I am! 



14 



Loving — That's All 



A good many years for a wee bit of living, 

A mighty few rich and a whole lot of poor. 
A good many tears, lots of need for forgiving. 

And hard knocks enough to go 'round, you be sure. 
There's plenty of struggling and pushing and shoving. 

And hard words along with the pull and the haul, 
And, Lord, how this old world of ours needs just loving. 

Just loving and loving and loving — that's all. 

There's a whole lot of stiff upper lips and of chaffing 

To cover up sore hearts; I know — I've been there; 
There's a good deal of sorrow and not too much laugh- 
ing, 

And many a fellow who's not had his share. 
There's plenty of stones in the road where you travel 

To stub your big toe for a trip and a fall. 
There's many a tangled-up skein to unravel. 

Before you learn loving — just loving, that's all. 

There's one fellow climbing, another one slipping. 

Some places are easy and some mighty hard; 
There's boosting, that's true, but a whole lot of tripping. 

The road through this life, it's not all boulevard. 
Some wrinkles from laughing, a whole lot from crying. 

And scars, too, in plenty, from scramble and fall, 
And many a fellow who's tired out trying, 

Who needs only loving, just loving, that's all. 



15 



Loving — That's All 



Not too many saints, and a whole lot of sinners 

Like you are and I am, but way down inside 
There's good in us all, if we can't all be winners, 

And losing's no crime, if a fellow has tried. 
A cheer for the man in the race who is leading, 

But the fellow who fights with his back to the wall, 
A cheer for him too, and the thing he is needing : 

Just loving and loving and loving — that's all. 

There's plenty of knowledge but not too much learning. 

The kind that you get from hard knocks and from care. 
The kind that knows sorrow and struggle and yearning 

And just wants to love folks and love and to spare; 
The kind that knows God's honest truth when he reads it, 

That hears clear above all the struggle the call: 
The world needs your loving and needs it and needs it — 

Just loving — and loving — and loving — that's all! 



16 



What Might Have Been 



Perhaps if you'd told him the things you now say, 

If you'd put out your hand when he stumbled that day; 

Perhaps if you'd seen him with vision as clear 

As you do when he's lying so silently here; 

Perhaps if you'd let him hear one kindly word 

Of the many you spoke that he knew not or heard, 

Perhaps if your sympathy had been as wide 

As it is, now he's dead — well, he might not have died. 

Perhaps if you'd sent him the roses you sent 

Ere you heard that the breath of his life had been spent; 

Perhaps if you'd looked for the good that you say 

Lay so rich in his soul, and had told him that day; 

Perhaps if you'd cheered him, and helped him along 

With a word and a smile and the snatch of a song, 

Perhaps if you'd honored him thus ere he slept. 

His days had been glad — and he might not have wept. 

That day when he hungered for kindness and cheer, 
Did he know he would find it when lying dead here? 
That time when he struggled and suffered and wept. 
Did he know you would come and be kind when he slept? 
The loaf that you give — did he know 'twas the sum 
Of the crumbs you denied, and that friendship would 

come 
To the edge of the grave and strow flower and word 
When he lay here so still — when he cared not or heard? 



17 



The Grief 



It's not that you failed me — 'twas better I made 
The struggle alone, though my weapons were laid 
In dust there beside me and comrades were flown, 
'Twas well I should make that last struggle alone. 
It's not that you fled when the danger was near. 
It's not that the soul of you crumpled with fear; 
'Tis not mine to shame you or judge you amiss. 
The hurt that you did was a deeper than this. 

It's not that I called you, in weakness and need ; 
It's not that they wounded and left me to bleed. 
For I sought the struggle and I chose the field. 
And I knew the foe and his stout sword and shield; 
His blows were not light ones, nor little the pain 
I suff"ered but he shall not strike me again; 
For now he lies broken and slain in his pride. 
The scars I may hear are as nothing beside. 

It's not that I sorrowed, for sorrow makes pure 
The soul that drinks deep and bides long to endure; 
The cup that was bitter was drained to the lees 
And may brim with nectar if Heaven so please; 
Nay — I am not angry, nor once would complain 
If I must pass through the dark valley again 
To find me the sunlight and song at the end. 
Nor would I once fail thee in trial, my Friend. 



18 



The Grief 



It's not the seared furrow of tears that I shed, 

For tears are to being as leaven to bread; 

And should I regret them who shed them and knew 

The glory of cleansing my soul in this dew? 

Nor once I reproach thee, for mine was the way. 

Via dolorosa, and thine yea or nay ; 

And so I absolve thee from blame — who am I 

To judge thee or scorn thee or ask thee once why? 

But this is my grief, and more bitter than stain, 

And deeper than scar and more cruel than pain, 

That once I had builded a temple of trust 

Now shattered and crumbled and laid in the dust. 

And what shall restore me the temple I had 

Of firm faith in friendship, whose towers rose glad, 

But long now in ruin and ashes have lain — 

And the dream dead that reared them, to live not again? 



19 



The Potter and the Clay 



He is strong, for he was broken 

On the torture wheel of pain; 
He is silent, who has spoken 

Hasty judgments, aye, and vain; 
He is rich, since he knew losses. 

True, by pledges once unkept, 
He stands straight, for he bore crosses 

And is glad, for that he wept. 

He knows beauty, through his blindness. 

He is humble, who knew pride; 
Tender for his soul's unkindness. 

And the Christ he once denied; 
He is pure for muck and wallow 

Where he lay and was unclean. 
And sincere for every hollow 

Sham and pretense that was mean. 

He knoAvs love, for that his spirit 

Was unlovely and was mean; 
For that fire that swept to sear it 

Is that calm soul and serene; 
He is whole for waves that battered. 

Beat and buffeted and cast 
Him upon the shore, a shattered, 

Broken, bleeding thing at last. 



20 



The Potter and the Clay 



He is free for that once prison 

And the wings that beat on bars; 
For that Hell whence he is risen 

Is the fellowship with stars; 
And that bowed head in its meekness 

Was defiant of the laws — 
He knows courage for the weakness 

And the cowardice that was. 

How but crushed and bruised and broken 

Can the potter mold his clay? 
How but through a grief unspoken 

Could come Love to light the way? 
By this dust of me Thou grindest, 

By these tears of me and rue, 
With this potter's clay Thou findest 

Thou shalt build my temple new. 



21 



Father William to Date 



"You are kind, Father William," the young man said, 

"You are kind and your smile is aglow; 
And is it from what you have heard or read, 

And how did you come to be so?" 
"All the days of my life," Father William replied, 

"There were sorrows and doubts and fears, 
And often aloud in my grief I cried. 

So I learned to be kind — ^through tears." 

"You are glad, Father William," the young man said, 

"You are glad and your laughter rings; 
When others are gloomy you smile instead. 

And the soul of you sings and sings." 
"All the days of my life," Father William replied, 

"I have striven the truth to gain, 
I lost it in self and greed and pride. 

And I learned to be glad — through pain!" 

"You are calm. Father William," the young man said, 

"You have peace and you go your way. 
And jostle no man and you earn your bread 

With the toil that you do each day." 
"I have wanted for peace," Father William replied, 

All the days of my busy life; 
Haste and harshness and blows I tried. 

And I learned what is peace — through strife ! " 



22 



Father William to Date 



"You give, Father William," the young man said, 

"You give with a generous hand. 
From your little store, not a stone, but bread. 

And somehow you understand." 
"I have hungered myself," Father William replied, 

"And I found not a crumb in greed. 
And the soul of me might have shriveled and died, 

So I learned how to give — through need." 

"You are slow. Father William," the young man said, 

"You are slow to judge and condemn, 
The broken and sad and uncomforted, 

You have mercy for all of them." 
"I have sinned myself," Father William replied, 

"And Mercy besought to win 
A pardon for me — and my tears were dried — 

And I learned not to judge — through sin." 



23 



Brothers 



This is a verse of a man who sinned, 

As many a man has done; 
Of a man who sped the tale like the wind, 

As many a man has done. 
And a pharisee with an uprolled eye, 
Who saw the man and who let him lie, 
And muttered a prayer: "Lord, 'twas not I!" 

As many a man has done. 

This is a verse of a man who wept, 

As many a man has done. 
Who felt his soul with red flames swept, 

As many a man has done. 
Who wept for the scar and the stain and blot 
On the soul of him, and the crimson spot, 
And who felt the brand that was white and hot, 

As many a man has done. 

This is a verse of a man who jeered. 

As many a man has done. 
Of a man who taunted and one who feared, 

As many a man has done. 
And the sinner fell and they let him lie. 
For he was a sinner, to live or die 
Unfit, and the three of them passed him by, 

As many a man has done. 



24 



Brothers 



And one there was who had sinned and wept, 

Even as the sinner had done; 
Whose soul with a flaming fire once swept, 

As many a soul has done. 
A man who had fallen in mud and mire, 
Whose soul had been scarred with a hell of fire. 
But through his sorrow had risen higher. 

As many a man has done. 

And he stopped where the sinner stood apart, 

As many a man has done, 
And clasped his hand and he touched his heart, 

As many a man has done. 
With hope and courage and sympathy. 
Tender and kind as a brother might be. 
And he hated the mouthing pharisee. 

As many a man has done. 

And he linked his arm the sinner's through, 

As many a man has done. 
And he walked with him, as Christ might do. 

And many a man has done. 
And the soul of the man was cleansed and white 
That was red before and the hopeless night 
Was gone and he walked in the way of light. 

As many a man has done. 



25 



Hospice 



He left the door ajar that evil night 

When rain beat fiercely down, and shut the light 

Of friendly moon and stars from earth; and came 

The bursts of jagged lightning like the flame 

Of hissing fire across the sullen sky. 

He left the door ajar that night, and I 

Would fain have shut it tight, but he said: "Nay! 

I left the door ajar — so let it stay!" 

In through the opened door the rain beat then, 
And he flung up the curtain high again. 
When I had shut it close to keep mine eyes 
From that dread flashing in the fiery skies. 
I drew the curtain close; I was afraid, — 
I would have shut the storm all out and stayed 
In warmth inside the house, but he said : "Nay ! 
I threw the curtain up — so let it stay!" 

And then I trembled when the rain beat down 

Upon the sill and at the angry frown 

Of skies when the storm lulled, and at the wind 

That beat its bitter gale of cold and dinned 

A song of furies on my coward ear; 

I would have shut the storm all out, through fear 

And selfishness. "What is a house," I cried, 

"But refuge from the storm that beats outside?" 



26 



Hospice 



"Why leave ye doors stand open to the storm? 

Why bid ye winds in when we might be warm? 

Why lift ye curtains high when lightnings fly 

With fury over all the blazing sky 

To make my soul afraid?" So then I spake, 

Impatient anyone should will to make 

His house storm's hospice, nor shut out the din, 

But bid the rain and fiery lightnings in. 

So then he said : "And are there none outside 
Who have a need of some door opened wide? 
And walk there none in darkness and the night 
Who may have cheer from the assuring light 
That streams where I have left the curtain high? 
Nay, shut thee not the door ! Shall we but cry 
With selfish fears and shall we two be warm. 
Nor care if there be strugglers in the storm? 
Fling wide thy heart's door open, in the din 
Of wind and storm and bid the wanderers in!" 



27 



Lost 



A seed held prisoned in its walls a flower 

Fair over all, but fell upon a stone: 
So I had in my heart one idle hour 

A dream that bade me live it as my own. 
Once was a word that trembled on my lips, 

To comfort hearts with stress of sorrow worn — 
How timid inspiration frightened slips 

From us — and dies unborn. 

I know a song full musical and sweet 

That came and on the brink of being stood. 
Expecting me with pipe and reed to greet 

The soul of it, so glorious and good. 
But I was indolent, dull, loath to sing; 

Till, after while, I bade it enter, — then 
I heard its timid feet go pattering 

Nor ever came again. 

Somewhere I know the undone deeds must be. 

The unborn thoughts and all the unsung songs, 
Not bitter, angry — only sad that we 

Have worked them such irreparable wrongs. 
As in the seed that lies upon the stone 

The flower, unblossomed, hopeless, must be sad, 
And yearn to know what never can be known — 

What life it might have had. 



28 



The Poor 



Come, boil the pot with coppers cast, 

Or silver, that the poor be fed; 
The world is crying, first to last 

For aid to the uncomforted. 
All things shall change, the prophet saith, 

But of one thing we may be sure. 
How much of vain pomp flourisheth. 

We shall have, Ah, so many poor. 

And up and down the street they cry. 

Who would bring succor where is want; 
"Came, dance, and merry-make and buy. 

The hungry wait, thin, lean and gaunt! 
The lanes of poverty are long. 

And winter cold is keen and sure. 
With lute and tripping dance and song 

We shall get money for the poor." 

Yes, we shall dance with tripping feet. 

In flowered halls, where Beauty sings, 
And some sell bon-bons we may eat, 

In gay bazaars, fantastic things. 
And we shall laugh and eat and drink, 

The snob, aristocrat and boor. 
And glow with fervor as we think 

Of money gotten for the poor. 



29 



The Poor 



And in the marts are cloth of gold 

And furs and laces, heap on heap. 
And tapestries; in loft and hold 

And vault the gold lies ankle deep; 
And in the bins are corn and wheat. 

With kine on hill and plain and moor, 
So vast the riches at our feet, 

And, God, there are so many poor! 

God help us all! It seems so strange! 

This wealth of sun and sky and air! 
The pastured acres rich that range 

A thousand miles from here to there. 
These golden fields with birds and bees. 

These riches all so vast and sure. 
These bursting bins and teeming seas, 

And yet. Dear God, so many poor ! 



30 



No Man's Land 



Out there in No Man's Land, 

Where the star-shells flare and wither 
On the blood and the mud and sand — 

Oh, Searchers, come hither, hither! 
Carefully now, for the star-shells are flashing; 
Down in a hole, while the great guns smashing 
The sodden earth! Now, stealthily flying, 
Come where this bundle of rags is lying. 
Once a soldier, with blood all wet. 
Gently now, for it's living yet! 

Out there in No Man's Land, 

Where death is in every furrow, 
Stretchers with heroes manned, 

And down in the crimson burrow, 
To lift him up, who is feebly groaning. 
To bear him away and the night wind moaning; 
Stealthily now, for the shells fall thickly. 
Then up and away and carry him quickly 
Back through the lines, with his blood all wet, — 
Hurry along, and we'll save him yet! 
Green now is No Man's Land, 

Green with the grain and the clover. 
Healed with the touch of His hand. 

And the scream of the shells is over. 
But the ones they smashed, now shall they go whither? 
Oh, Searchers, with mercy come hither, hither! 



31 



No Man's Land 



For there is need of the weak and broken, — 
Come, bring a litter of love, the token 
Of help and hope, as the Master planned, 
For these lying broken in No Man's Land. 

Peace — ^hath it No Man's Land 

Where the broken and sick are lying? 
Nor the mercy of men at hand 
To comfort and still the crying 
Of men and women and children falling 
Broken in the fight and the Master calling: 
"The needy lie here, and shall they go whither? 
Ye bearers of litters, come, hither, hither! 
Come with the mercy the Father planned. 
Oh, who will come with Me to No Man's Land?" 



32 



Knowledge 



I do not know if planets meet, 

Or how deep is the sea; — 
I know my neighbor's across the street, 

And he has need of me. 

I do not know if cold and storm 
Sweep Mars by sea and land, — 

I know my neighbor's heart is warm, 
I'll go and clasp his hand. 

Of that spot on the sun that speaks 

Of storms I cannot say — 
I know those spots on that man's cheeks 

Are tears to wipe away. 

I do not know how far the sun. 
How deep is space or wide, — 

I know that man near me is one 
I might help if I tried. 

I do not know if spirits come 
In vagrant mood and while, — 

I know that Heaven is the sum 
Of help and cheer and smile. 

I know the day is glad with cheer, 

I know the sky is blue. 
And Heaven might be very near 

If I willed it — and you! 



Brothers of Men 



You are Brothers of Men! Let me say it again 
That you may not forget: You are Brothers of Men! 
Yours to comfort the weak; yours to walk with the 

strong; 
Yours to bring the wise counsel and lift the clear song; 
Yours the spirit to smile, what the task to be done, 
Yours the courage to fight till the battle is won; 
But, more than all else, I would tell you again 
That you may not forget: You are Brothers of Men! 

Yours the quick word restrained; yours the strength of 

a Man; 
Yours the glory of giving; the wisdom to plan; 
The strong will to purpose; the courage to do; 
The firm soul abiding the bitter day through; 
As clean as a woman; unspoiled as a child; 
As strong as a Man, and with mercy as mild 
As the great heart of Pity! Oh, hear it again. 
That you may not forget: You are Brothers of Men! 

Aye, Brothers of Men! To be steadfast, sincere, 
To be kind, to be gentle; with hope and with cheer 
To make the way brighter; to clasp hands with men 
In friendship and kindness and walk with them then; 
And walk not before men, nor follow, nor chide. 
Nor flatter, nor envy, but walk side by side 
With love such as He had! Oh, hear it again. 
What glory is yours, who are Brothers of Men! 



34 



A Little Song 



This little task, I'll do it now, 

And it forever shall be done; 
This little fight I'll win somehow. 

And it shall ever thence be won; 
I'll say with grace this yea or nay, 

And cast the die forever true. 
By little steps to reach the way 

Of gladness when the day is through. 

This little fret, this needless fear 

I shall cast off with faith serene; 
This little doubt I shall make clear, 

And know this duty is not mean, 
Not trifling, not to thrust aside 

Or turn like some unwritten page, 
It is for me to do with pride 

And my best effort to engage. 

This little hurt I shall not mind. 

This little hate I shall not will 
To sup with me and I shall grind 

No meal for anger at my mill, 
From little pride that struts the earth 

I pray my spirit may be free. 
To let the humbler pride of worth 

Come there and be the guest of me. 



35 



A Little Song 



No little gain that yet is loss, 

But loss that may be sometime gain; 
No little riches that are dross 

When all of living is made plain; 
No giant's power for mighty deeds, 

No genius for the hero's task. 
But strength enough for little needs 

Is all the blessing that I ask. 

No little spites, no little greeds. 

No little cant of Thee and Me — 
Enough for my so simple needs 

And much for all the needs there be; 
No blazing meteor overhead, 

No flaming comet in the skies, 
But velvet pansies in a bed. 

And love that shines from smiling eyes. 



36 



My Neighbor and I 



If I weigh up the worth of my labor 

With the scales of exactness I hold 
When I'm judging the deeds of my neighbor, 

Whose frailties I'm given to scold; 
I might not take half as much pleasure 

In thinking how fine I may be, 
When I've taken my neighbor's just measure, 

If I use the same measure for me. 

If I do what I have to do squarely 

As I know he should do, and I say; 
If I play the game he plays and fairly, 

As I know in my heart he should play; 
I shall not ask what kind of man is he. 

Or judge him a great man or small, 
For my own self will keep me so busy 

I'll have no time to judge him at all. 

If when he does well I shall praise him 

With the measure of praise I give me. 
If with the same gladness I raise him 

As high as I know I should be; 
If when he does ill, all my railings 

Be with voice that is still and is small 
As when I scold me for my failings, — 

Well, then I won't scold him at all. 



37 



My Neighbor and I 



If I make him the many excuses 

I make for myself when I'm wrong, 
If in judging I practice the uses 

Of mercy and cheer him along 
With the smiles that make for my well-being, 

If my pats on my back I make his, 
The first thing I know I'll be seeing 

What a mighty fine fellow he is. 

If I'll just judge myself and my labor 

With the justice I judge when it's he. 
And then judge the needs of my neighbor 

With the mercy I use to judge me, 
I'll not ask what kind of man is he, — 

If the mercy I seek shall be his. 
It will keep me, I'm sure, mighty busy 

To be — well, be good as he is! 



38 



Just Between Us Two 



You're a likeable fellow, you were when a boy, 

And your mother was fond of you, too; 
But you've warped some since then; in the struggle for 
joy 

You've missed half the pleasure of you. 
I know you are worried, for worries are rife, 

In the fight to be on the top shelf, 
But I'm sure you would get more of joy out of life 

If you'd get on good terms with yourself. 

I know you are anxious to be at the top. 

When the battle of living is through; 
You're rolling a ball up a hill and can't stop, 

For fear it will roll over you. 
You're working a full shift and worrying one, 

And you'd like to sleep one but you don't. 
You think you'll be happy when work is all done, 

But I'm reasonably sure that you won't. 

I know you want money and power and place. 

That's the way all you fellows begin. 
You've set up a standard — you're keeping the pace 

That you have to keep up if you win. 
And perhaps you will win all you wish in the end. 

Be just rich when the battle is through. 
But tell me now, frankly, as friend to a friend: 

Is it worth what it's doing to you? 



39 



Just Between Us Two 



If it's losing the dreams that you had when a boy, 

If it's stealing the smiles from your face, 
If it's robbing the day of its measure of joy. 

If it's rusting your soul in the race; 
If it's putting off happiness day after day. 

If your tired soul keeps hearing; "Not yet!" 
Don't you think it is foolish to trade life away 

For the things you won't want when you get? 

You're a sensible mortal : suppose when it ends. 

You find all your dreams were dead wrong? 
Suppose you have traded off wife, kids and friends,- 

Yes, traded them off for a song. 
It is splendid to work and it's fine to achieve. 

And it's good to be on the top shelf, 
But right down to brass tacks, now, do you believe 

You can win at the cost of yourself? 



40 



Just Being Kind 



Just being kind — Oh, friend of mine, 
It makes the blessed sun to shine. 

With newer, warmer light, and brings. 

A rosy glow on common things. 
Just being kind — some weary while 
Of day to brighten with a smile. 

And we shall richer gladness find. 

Just being kind. 

Just being kind — somehow, somewhere. 
This day and every day to share 

With whom shall need, a word, a smile 

Of cheer and gladness that may while 
Some fret or care away and make 
The day seem brighter for its sake; 

To make glad some sad heart that pined, 

Just being kind. 

Just being kind — who does not need 
The blessed thought or word or deed 

That breathes on the spent fire, and, lo, 

Makes every dying ember glow. 
Just being kind — Oh, do not we 
Each cherish some glad memory 

That some one in our hearts enshrined, 

Just being kind. 



41 



Just Being Kind 



Just being kind — how may we bring 
Like the first wild flowers of the Spring, 

The garland of a gladness rare 

With just a friendly smile sonlewhere. 
Just being kind — how may be stirred 
The heart to joy with just a word, 

And memory with fresh roses twined 

Just being kind. 

Just being kind — now may we give 
The best we have to life, and live 

In spendthrift waste of word and smile 

And cheer and gladness all the while. 
Just being kind — ^to go our ways 
As pilgrims through the round of days. 

And every day's chief gladness find 

Just being kind. 



42 



The Little Things 



It wasn't much — a friendly voice. 

That hailed me with good cheer; 
A very small and simple thing, 

Not worth inscribing here; 
And yet somehow I was in need, 

My skies grown dark and gray, 
That friendly greeting comforted 

And made me glad all day. 

It wasn't much — a sunny smile 

That someone offered me; 
It came just at a weary while. 

As weary whiles must be; 
Who gave it never dreamed, I'm sure, 

That smiles may be like dew 
Upon the flowers and weary hearts 

Make glad the whole day through. 

It wasn't much — a simple deed 

That some one thought to do; 
A very simple thing and small ; 

Perhaps Someone was you; 
A little gem of thoughtfulness — 

And yet a jewel rare, 
For all the dreary day along 

It flashed and glitttered there. 



43 



The Little Things 



It wasn't much — a kindly word, 

A firm and friendly hand 
Outstretched that meant a lot of things 

I'm sure you understand; 
Somehow it cheered and lifted me 

As I went on my way, 
And left new courage in my heart 

To gladden all the day. 

Such little things, the friendly voice, 

The kindly deed and smile. 
The outstretched hand and sunny word 

That came that dreary while; 
Somebody merely passed and smiled 

And hailed me with good cheer. 
And all the day it made me glad. 

Just as I'm telling here. 



44 



The End of the Road 



Dig, dig, dig! 

All through the livelong day; 

Bent over a desk with a weary brain 
And hair that is getting gray. 
Dig, dig, dig! 
For the dollars that piled up fast, 

And filled his dreams when he slept at night 
Worn out by the chase at last. 

Dig, dig, dig! 

From morning till late at night; 

With a wrinkled brow and a heart so hard 
That it felt as a dollar might. 
Dig, dig, dig! 
A deal that was big or small, 

Another hunch and a hasty lunch 
With dollars to crown it all. 

Dig, dig, dig, 

At sixty miles an hour, 

From eight to noon and from one to six, 
Wrinkled and gray and sour; 
Dig, dig, dig. 
Daughter and son and wife, 

But he had no time for profitless things 
So he put them out of his life. 



45 



The End of the Road 



Dig, dig, dig. 

Wallow and wade and roll. 

Through a mass of dollars mountain high 
Then on to a newer goal; 
Dig, dig, dig, 
Heap and gather and get, 

For sixty is only middle age, 
There's time for a million yet. 

Dig, dig, dig. 

Liver and spleen and gall, 

Warped and twisted and dead and dried. 
And stomach — ^none at all; 
Dig, dig, dig, 
Gather and get and store. 

Heap and pile and measure and count. 
More and more and more. 

Dig, dig, dig, 

Gravel and dirt and stones; 

The sexton heaps up another mound 
And makes him a bed for bones. 
Dig, dig, dig, 
Gather and get and keep. 

And the earth is ten thousand miles across 
But only six feet deep. 



46 



Let's Play a Little While 



Come on — let's lay the burden down — ^the weight of 

frets and cares, 
Let's slack the pace a little in the race of real affairs, 
Let's give the troubled soul a rest from all these cares of 

ours, 
And find new joy in living out among the birds and 

flowers. 
Life's such a fleeting breath at best, and night will be so 

long, 
And hearts will be so better for a cheery smile and song, 
Let's smooth the wrinkled brow of Care and learn again 

to smile, 
Let's lay the heavy burden down and play a little while. 

Come on — let's quit the race a while and idle by the way. 
Let's get some pleasure out of life while still it shall be 

day; 
Let's put by work and worry once, nor ever dream that 

Care 
Shall know the place we've wandered to and come to find 

us there; 
Let's be like boys on Saturday, with all the lessons done 
And only joy for company, be battles lost or won 
While we be gone; let's quit the road and wander off" a 

mile 
Where we may search for violets — let's play a little 

while. 



47 



Let's Play a Little While 



Come on — 'twill keep till we come back, this work we 
have to do ! 

Let's lie a while upon the grass while still the sky is blue; 

Let's breathe the air of freedom once, forget the world 
and all. 

Beside the brook, beneath the trees, and hear the song- 
birds call. 

Let's find the gladdest way we know, and wander side 
by side 

Where bees and buds and blossoms are, and squirrels 
dart and hide; 

Let's sail upon the sea of dreams to some enchanted isle, 

With only joy for company — let's play a little while. 

Come on — the day is. Oh, so fair with light and life and 

all! 
Let's give our tired souls a rest and strip from us the pall 
Of ceaseless toil and care and fret — let's wander far away 
From street and town and all they mean, and idle all 

the day. 
Let's find the way to happiness, the path the schoolboy 

finds. 
And follow on and on and on for all the way it winds; 
Let's for the once forget to frown and learn again to 

smile. 
And Life will be so sweeter when we've played a little 

while. 



48 



A Brother of Mine 



He's a brother of mine, or at least he should be, 
That's the way I interpret the thing, don't you see? 
Though he may be somebody I don't even know, 
Though he does not quite travel the ways I may go, 
Yet I can't really say that I am not concerned 
If he wins or he fails, for somehow I have learned 
It will cheer him a little, if I give the sign 
Of a smile and he feels he's a brother of mine. 

If I know he's in trouble I can't stand aside 
As a stranger would do, and I know he has pride 
That will keep him from telling his troubles to me, 
So I like to get close as a brother would be. 
If he were my own brother I'd not turn away 
And leave him alone, but I'd walk up and lay 
My hand on his shoulder and his eyes might shine 
With hope if I made him a brother of mine. 

I wouldn't hold back if I saw him astray 

On a road that I felt would bring ruin some day; 

I would not declare with my lips set and grim 

It was none of my business what happened to him. 

For it's much of my business to help when I can 

With a smile or a word or a hope or a plan; 

And somehow I feel in the greater Design 

Of life and the world he's a brother of mine. 



49 



A Brother of Mine 



I know he's as human and needy as I, 

No more and no less, and I won't pass him by 

Without stretching a hand out and letting him know 

I want to be friendly if he'll have it so. 

For if life were harsh with me, harsh and unkind, 

The day gray and long and the way hard to find, 

I'd like him to come with a smile as the sign 

Of his friendship — yes, come as a brother of mine. 



50 



A Pretty Good World 



It's a pretty good world, as a world's apt to go; 
At least, it's the best world that most of us know. 
If it's hot in the sun when the sky's blue and fair, 
There's twilight and evening and cool, fragrant air 
In the night and the dark; if there's hard work to do, 
There's plenty of play and a chance to rest, too. 
And if there are tears in some day's weary while. 
There's a lot of real gladness and many a smile. 

There are thistles, of course, in the meadow I see. 
But look at the flowers they have strewn there for me; 
Just scattered there broadcast and bright in the sun, 
And I, who have plucked, never planted a one. 
There's a cloud in the sky, or for me or for you. 
But the black of the cloud only brings out the blue 
Of the summery sky; see the brook that is pearled 
With its crystalline drops! It's a pretty good world! 

There are cowards, that's true, but so few when you read 
Of the brave men and fine and the courage and deed 
Of the heroes who battled and struggled and won 
In the fight that has waged since the world was begun. 
There's greed, too, and hatred, but over above 
There's a wealth of fine spirit and friendship and love, 
And bright eyes and smiling and warm hearts and kind — 
It's a good world, as good as you're likely to find. 



51 



A Pretty Good World 



There's waste and there's evil, there's crime and there's 

lust, 
But where is the woodpile that doesn't have dust, 
And chips, sticks and splinters? And there's the sound 

wood 
For building and burning that's solid and good; 
There's chaff in the bushel, but most of it's grain, 
There's green grass and flowers and fruit in the rain; 
And for every serpent that hisses and stings 
A hundred rare song birds and butterfly wings. 

It's a pretty good world from beginning to end. 
There's blue sky and flower and hard work and friend. 
And gladness and singing and many long years 
And a lot more of laughter and smile than of tears. 
So put in your laughter and friendship and cheer, 
Don't wait till tomorrow, but now and right here! 
Somebody may need just that smile you've unfurled 
To make it and keep it a pretty good world! 



52 



Things a Man May Do 



To make the way a little plain where it was dark before; 
To smile a really friendly smile out through the open 

door; 
To ease the load a little bit for one who follows me, 
To light a candle in the dark so wayfarers may see 
A friendly inn close by the road; to plant a tree where 

men 
May lie and rest and dream and sleep and go their ways 

again 
Refreshed and ready for the task; when life's all done 

and through, 
I guess these are the things, perhaps, a man should really 

do. 

To lead some troubled soul to smile when all seems lost 
and gone; 

To walk with some one who is lame and cheer him to 
go on; 

To make the world a bit worth while for some one who 
may be 

In need of comforting perhaps and one kind word from 
me; 

To clear the briars from the path that grew there yes- 
terday; 

To set a sign post here and there that some may find 
the way; 



53 



Things a Man May Do 



To trim the lamp that leads men on to shelter, and make 

new 
The beacon fires of hope — these things I guess a man 

should do. 

To store wide waters well with bread; think not too 
much of pain; 

To mark the snares and pitfalls well and leave the high- 
way plain 

For him who goes this way again; to blaze a friendly 
tree 

Where pathways lead through tangled woods that travel- 
ers may see; 

To follow where brave men have led and make the 
trail so he 

Who comes another time this way may safely follow me; 

To scatter seeds along the way where all those flowers 
grew 

For me to pick — these things Fm sure are what a man 
should do. 

So let me make the way of men a little happier way, 
Where some one may pick flowers perhaps that I have 
sown today; 



54 



Things a Man May Do 



Where some worn traveler in the night with gratitude 

may turn 
In at the inn where shines the lamp that I set out to burn ; 
I'd like to know some ship in stress might find a harbor 

fair 
And safety from the night and storm by watch fires 

burning there 
That one day I heaped on the shore — and when my days 

are through 
I'd like to feel I'd done some things a man should really 

do. 



55 



A Very Little Song 



A little grief came down the way 
Of life upon a sunny day, 
And touched a gentle heart with pain 
That misted all the day like rain. 

A little grief came down the way 
Of life upon a sunny day. 

A little tear came after grief 
All sodden like an Autumn leaf 
In sere October's mist, and lay 
Upon a cheek that sunny day. 

A little tear came after grief 
All sodden like a mist-wet leaf. 

A little gladness came along 
The way of Sorrow with a song 
And with its dainty fingers set 
A smile upon the cheek still wet. 

A little gladness came along 
The way of Sorrow with a song. 

And then a rainbow came that way 
And arched across the dreary day. 
For through the tear that weary while 
There fell the sunshine of a smile. 



56 



A Very Little Song 



And so a rainbow came that way 
And arched across the dreary day. 

A little grief to touch with pain, 
A little tear that falls like rain 
Upon the sunny way the while, 
A little gladness and a smile, 
And, see, behind the cloud the blue, 
With rainbows arching over too! 



57 



Just Around the Corner 



Just around the corner — just a step or two from here 
There's a well of water that is cool and crystal clear; 
There's an eye that twinkles with the rarest kind of 

smile; 
Patience, we shall reach the spot in just a little while. 
Hot the day and dusty and the way is rough and long, 
We shall find a place to rest and we shall hear a song, 
We shall greet a friend or two and they shall bid us 

cheer — 
Just around the corner — just a step or two from here. 

Just around the corner where the roses are that fall 
Fresh and fair and fragrant from an ancient bush and 

tall; 
Fall like smiles from friends of ours who greet us on 

our way. 
Nod at us as we pass by as if to say good day; 
We may stop an hour or two by rose and bush and stem, 
Fair they are as friendly smiles, and life is full of them. 
Drear the way and weary now, but we shall see them 

smile 
Just around the corner and in such a little while. 

Just around the corner — just a bit beyond the view 
There's a dream we've cherished and a dream that's 
coming true; 



58 



Just Around the Corner 



There's a friend we've longed for and whose hand we'll 

clasp in ours, 
Where the well of water is and where the dreams and 

flowers; 
There's a bench to sit upon and there's a song to sing, 
There's a tree to lie beneath, a bird upon the wing. 
There is joy to fill the heart and laughter come to stay — 
Just around the corner — just a step or two away. 

Just around the corner — let us be upon our way, 

Sorrow left behind us at the gate of yesterday. 

Friends of ours are waiting there, with cheer and smile 

and song, 
And Ah, the way was weary once and Ah, the day was 

long. 
Let us skirt the hedge and fence and climb across the 

stile. 
Bid these travelers be of cheer and greet them with a 

smile. 
Tell them of the joys to be and point them out the way — 
Just around the corner of Tomorrow — or Today. 



59 



The Understanding 



Someday beyond the narrow skies that fall 

About our little lives, I may know all 

The crosses you have borne, and I may know 

The troubles that beset you, long ago; 

The struggles you have won or lost; the strife, 

The frets, the weary worries of your life; 

I'll know the daily debt of toil you paid, 

The part of patient sufferer you played 

In this half-tragedy of life, and I 

Who looked upon you with unseeing eye, 

And in my hate was harsh and mean, and blamed 

You or for this or that, will be ashamed, 

Withdraw the bitter words I said of you 

And all my hasty judgments and untrue. 

Crave pardon from you, offer you my hand, 

And say: "Forgive me! Now I understand!" 

And someday, likewise, you may learn of me 
The secrets of the life that used to be; 
The burdens I have had ; the scars I bore 
And hid from you; the struggles o'er and o'er 
That warped me from myself; the times I tried 
And tried again and failed; the nights I cried 
To hoped-for Heavens, unknown, unseen, unlearned; 
The lashes Fate laid on my back that burned 



60 



The Understanding 



Their length across me like a very fire; 

And you may see the ashes of desire 

That like the rubbish heaps of purpose, lay 

In gray profusion at the close of day ; 

And you will stand, abashed, appalled, ashamed 

To think you judged me in your haste and blamed 

Me or for this or that; stretch forth your hand 

And say: "Forgive me! Now I understand!" 



61 



To Meet the Day 



To meet my tasks with spirit, 

And to do 
The oft done thing with strength 

And courage new; 
To go forth to the day, 

With faith and trust, 
And labor if I may, 

Not since I must. 

To meet my disappointments 

With stout heart; 
To seek no paths of ease 

That lie apart 
From those my fellows travel, 

Nor to be 
Absolved from any task 

That strengthens me. 

To meet my joys well knowing 

They are lent 
To share with whom I may; 

To be content 
With less than a full measure. 

And to be 
The friend of him who may 

Have need of me. 



62 



To Meet the Day 



To meet my fellows fairly, 

And to say 
My greetings gracefully, 

And yea or nay 
With single tongue and gently; 

To be blind 
To little human faults, 

And to be kind. 

To meet myself right fairly; 

To be glad 
For life and chance; to prize 

What joys I've had; 
Fight manfully, play gladly. 

With no spent 
And sullen spirit mine. 

And be content. 



63 



Virtue 



"If a feller gets up to the top of the heap," 

Says Hiram Green to me; 
"If he works while I'm in bed asleep 

Like an ant or a busy bee; 
If he takes the chance that I threw away, 

A chance that I thought was slim, 
And makes it win — I ain't goin' to say 

It was all fool luck for him. 

"If a feller plows and plants his grain 

When I'm whittlin' a stick for mine. 
Or fishin' or thinkin' it's goin' to rain 

Or waitin' for more sunshine; 
If he plugs along with the vim I lacked 

And profits by good boss sense, 
I ain't goin' to play the baby act 

And blame it on providence. 

"If a feller does what he thinks is best 

With his cattle and grain and rents, 
I ain't goin' to say he's featherin' his nest 

At somebody else's expense ; 
For a feller can plow and a feller can sweat,- 

I'm a purty free will, I be. 
If I got the zip to go out and get 

What there is in the world for me. 



64 



Virtue 



"I ain't goin' to say that he won't play square 

In what he may think or do ; 
I'm goin' to think he will play the game fair 

As mebbe I would, or you. 
I ain't a-writin' no judgment book, — 

If we make him a town trustee 
I ain't goin' to think he'll be a crook. 

Any more 'n you would — or me. 

"I can't help thinkin' that mebbe the worst 

Is the feller than runs and tells 
The shady story — who's always first 

Suspectin' somebody else. 
When Virtue was passed around that Day, 

I wasn't there to see, 
But the other feller, I'm bound to say, 

Got just as much as me." 



65 



Peep o' Dawn 



Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! 

Mighty glad t' welcome you! 
Heard th' field larks tellin' me 
You was here an' come t' see! 

Heard a hundred voices say: 

"Sunshine's come t' stay all day!" 
Mighty glad t' welcome you, 
Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! 

Mornin', Sunshine! Heard a lark 
Pipe yer comin' through th' dark; 
Minstrel swaller up th' spout 
Told me you was comin' out. 
Airly rooster in th' coop 
Crowed hisself nigh inter croup; 
Mighty glad t' welcome you, 
Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! 

Mornin', Sunshine! Glad ye're back. 
Seen you through my curtain crack; 
Watched y' shinin' on my bed 
Sayin' "Git up, Sleepyhead!" 
Felt yer warm hand on my cheek, 
Almos' thought I heard y' speak: 
"Day is happy, skies are blue!" 
Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! 



66 



Peep o' Dawn 



Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! 
I jist take new life fr'm you. 

Somethin' in yer comin' that 

Make my heart go pittypat. 
Wisht whenever I come near 
Folks, like you do, I could hear: 

"Mornin', Sunshine! Howdy do! 

Mighty glad t' welcome you!" 



67 



Singing Along 



He went singin' along 

On the street where I be, 
Just a line of a song 

Sort o' homelike to me; 
Must 'a' had a sweet soul, 

Fer things often went wrong. 
But th' days, on th' whole. 

He went singin' along. 

Feller'd grieved, too, I know, 

'Cause I knowed him right well. 
An' th' lines he could show 

Had a story to tell 
As them lines always do. 

But he knowed that a song 
Helped him fight th' thing through, 

An' went singin' along. 

An' as gruff as I be 

(An' I'm gruff when I choose). 
He would smile up at me 

Like a cure for th' blues; 
Seemed to reckon some way 

That th' heart needs a song, 
So he cheered up my day 

An' went singin' along. 



68 



Singing Along 



An' it's odd, I declare, 

When I look back an' see, 
How a feller as rare 

As I knowed him to be 
Growed a soul good to see 

Out o' things goin' wrong, 
While a feller like me 

Ain't a-singin' along. 

Durn my shriveled old soul, 

But he makes me ashamed 
When I'm takin' th' toll 

Of his spirit — I'm blamed 
If I ever half tried; 

Soul, you're goin' all wrong! 
Giddap, durn your hide. 

An' go singin' along! 



69 



Keep Sweet 



Keep sweet — that's all I've got to say; 
You won't go fur wrong thataway! 
Keep sweet, an' be of heart an' cheer, 
An' if th' way ain't always clear. 
Strike up a snatch of old time song 
To keep us sweet as we go 'long; 
For though we've many a bitter day. 
Let's try to keep sweet anyway. 

Keep sweet — an' when th' struggle's through, 

Th' Lord just can't help lovin' you; 

Keep sweet — it does us good t' strike 

A soul that's sweet an' wholesome like! 

It sort o' radiates good cheer 

An' lights th' path an' helps t' clear 

Th' mists that hang above th' way, 

Let's try to keep sweet every day. 

Keep sweet — don't let th' sad days blur 
Th' brightness of th' days that were, 
Or dim with useless tears an' free 
Th' brightness of th' days to be. 
Keep sweet — with steadfast faith an' long 
With strength to suffer an' be strong, 
With hope to light us on th' way — 
Let's try to keep sweet every day. 



70 



Keep Sweet 



Keep sweet — with that calm faith that came 
When we would ask it in His name, 
At Mother's knee, an' were content 
From simple trust with what He sent. 
Be our hearts th' abidin' place 
Of what's th' noblest, gentlest grace 
Th' angels know; though dark th' day, 
Let's try to keep sweet anyway. 



71 



An Epitaph 



Kind o' jollied along 

In the friendliest way, 
With a smile and a song 

And a kind word to say; 
Didn't worry and fret 

If things sometimes went wrong, 
Kept his spirit sweet yet. 

And just jollied along. 

Sort o' jollied along 

With good cheer all the while, 
Had a grip pretty strong 

And the friendliest smile; 
Heard him whistlin' a tune 

And a-hummin' a song 
Mornin', evenin' or noon. 

Kind o' jollied along. 

"Don't you worry," he'd say, 

"For the sun's sure to shine. 
There's a flower by the way 

And the day's pretty fine; 
Used to worry like you. 

Thought the world was all wrong, 
But I always came through 

And I jollied along." 



72 



An Epitaph 



Well, I missed him one day, 

And a fellow came by 
In the lonesomest way 

And a-rubbin' his eye, 
Said he'd been at his side, 

Heard him hummin' a song,- 
Didn't seem that he died, 

He just jollied along. 



73 



When a Feller Makes Good 



When a feller makes good — when he wins in the fight, 

And especially when it's been grim, 
I may be kind o' sorry it ain't me, all right. 

But I'm glad, yes I'm glad it was him. 
I ain't goin' to be sour that the prize wasn't mine, 

I ain't goin' to be ugly or glum, 
I ain't goin' to grumble or holler or whine, 

'Cause mebbe my time is to come. 

When a feller makes good — when he reaches the place 

Where he slacks up a bit and can rest, 
I ain't goin' to grudge it, or wear a long face, 

I'm goin' to keep doin' my best; 
For what he can do I can do, like as not. 

An' I ain't wastin' time bein' blue, 
When a feller makes good, well, it just shows me what 

Most any live feller can do. 

When a feller makes good I ain't goin' to complain, 

I'm just goin' to be glad that he won, 
For what has been done, I can do it again, 

Whatever's been done can be done; 
I'm sorry perhaps that I didn't just find 

The thing that from my eyes was hid. 
But as long as I didn't, I ain't goin' to mind, 

I'm durn glad that somebody did. 



74 



When a Feller Makes Good 



It gives me a thrill when somebody makes good, 

It kind o' invites me to cheer, 
I'd like to have done it perhaps, if I could. 

But I ain't goin' to grumble or sneer 
Jist because it was him — he just sets me the pace. 

He shows me what someone can do. 
And I'm goin' to pitch in with a smile on my face. 

And mebbe I'll set one for you. 

No, I ain't goin' to whine when somebody makes good, 

I ain't goin' to be jealous or hot; 
I'm jist goin' to cheer him and then I'll saw wood. 

And I can make good, like as not. 
I'm glad when somebody makes good — yes, I be, 

When we thought all his chances was slim. 
And it's jist human nature to wish it was me. 

But I ain't a bit sorry it's him! 



75 



The Newsboy's Friend 



He's the kind of a fellow you like mighty well, 

And he smiles in the friendliest way; 
He's forty or fifty I guess, — I can't tell, 

For sure, but his hair's turning gray. 
He buys him a paper or two every time 

That he passes the corner by me. 
And he never takes change from a nickel or dime. 

He's a regular fellow, you see. 

He's a regular fellow with smiles in his eye, 

And he's never too busy to say 
Hello to a boy, and he stops going by 

And says: "How is business today?" 
He looks at a fellow like he understood 

When it's sleety and cold and he says: 
"A cup of hot cofifee would taste pretty good. 

And a couple of doughnuts, I guess." 

Then he puts down a quarter and says: "What's the 
news : 
And I hand him a paper and grin, 
And he says: "Keep the change. Boy, and see you don't 
lose 
That smile — it will help you to win. 



76 



The Newsboy's Friend 



Who's your banker?" he says. "It's my Mother," 
says I, 

'Cause she is, and a dandy one, too, 
Then he laughs and the kindest look comes in his eye 

And he says to me, says he: "You'll do." 

He's a regular fellow and don't have to try, 

The kind you would be if you could; 
When he pats your head and looks straight in your eye 

It just makes a fellow feel good. 
You're not scared any more and you don't mind the 
snow 

Or the sleet or the nickle you spend. 
And you feel as if you'd have some safe place to go 

If you needed a really good friend. 

And some day he says, when my face ain't pure white: 

"You've got some skin trouble, I see, 
But good soap and water will cure it all right, 

I had skin trouble, too, once," says he. 
"Here's a nickle for soap — better make it a dime," 

He says, "Soap's for sale everywheres; — 
Come up to my office and sit down sometime 

And we'll talk of the world of affairs." 



77 



The Newsboy's Friend 



He's the funniest fellow, and says it as true 

As can be and he don't crack a smile, 
But you just sort of feel when he's talking to you 

He's smiling inside all the while. 
He seems to know boys and their feelings and ways, 

Just seems as if he understood. 
And all of the things that he does and he says — 

Well, they just make a fellow feel good. 



78 



Lend a Hand 



Yes, there is many a load to lift, 

And many a task to do; 
There's many a way and many a rule 

Set forth for me and you; 
But what the task there is to do, 

And how the work be planned, 
It's best to smile, a cheery smile, 

And then — to lend a hand. 

There's many a heart that's aching sore, 

And many a misty eye; 
There's many a soul that needs once more 

Be bidden just to try; 
So what the need or grief may be, 

I'll try to understand. 
And smile — just smile a cheery smile, 

And try to lend a hand. 

There's many a day that's raging hot, 

And many a way that's long. 
And many a pilgrim needs a lift, 

A bit of cheer and song; 
So I've one simple rule and plain 

Not hard to understand. 
It's just to smile a cheery smile. 

And just to lend a hand. 



79 



Lend A Hand 



There's many a grief that's hard to bear, 

There's many a need and stress; 
There's many a trial I might share 

And make the burden less; 
So let me lift the load a while, 

Until the heights be spanned, 
Let me give you a cheery smile, 

And let me lend a hand. 

Yes, there is many a joy to bring. 

And many a hope renew, 
And there is many a soul to cheer 

And kindly deed to do; 
There's many a heart to be made glad. 

If we but understand, 
Let's smile — let's smile a cheery smile. 

And then let's lend a hand. 



80 



A Field of Clover 



It was just a field of clover that the sunshine flooded over, 
With an orchard close upon it, and a cottage standing 
near 
That had morning-glories climbing; and a meadow lark 
was chiming 
Forth his welcome to the Springtime in a carol sweet- 
ly clear. 
It was just some clover waving with its red and white, 
behaving 
Like the children at a frolic when the sun is noonday 
high, 
But it brought me something tender — to my memory a 
splendor 
That was soft and sweet and gentle, and a mist upon 
my eye. 

It was just a field of clover that the bumblebees flew over 
With a drowsy drone and buzzing; and the cattle 
grazed afar 
Where the reeds and willows quiver by the bubbling 
brook or river 
Just beyond the snowy orchard where the apple blos- 
soms are. 
It was just a picture, fleeting as the song of birds in 
greeting, 
But it bore a thousand fancies that came back to me, 
as rare 



81 



A Field of Clover 



As the dreams that one day thrilled me and the happiness 
that filled me 
When I followed through the clover to the paths that 
led — say where! 

I went roaming there, and finding me a path I knew went 
winding 
Through the wood and by the river, when the day was 
fine and fair, 
I would follow it, forgetting all the world but this, and 
letting 
This old pathway wind and wander till it lost itself 
somewhere 
In the tangled wood, and lying there I heard the breezes 
crying 
In the trees that were so high — so high, — the shade 
so deep — so deep! 
And when birds and bees were humming, with the same 
boy who went chumming 
Down the road with me to Nowhere, talked and 
dreamed and — fell asleep. 

It was just a field of clover, but somehow it bore me over 
Like a bridge across the river between Sometime then 

and now. 
And it lent me all the seeming for the moment of the 

dreaminsr 



82 



A Field of Clover 



That was mine and yours in boyhood but has gone 

from us somehow. 
And I'm sure you must remember; rosy June and soft 

September, 
April blossomed pink with flowers and October with 

its brown; 
August with ripe apples blushing, March's waking rivers 

rushing, 
And December with its Christmas and the snowflakes 

coming down. 

It was just a field of clover, and a cottage where, up 
over, 
Trailed the climbing morning-glories; and a girl stood 
at the door 
Much like some one — well, no matter, — but I glanced a 
moment at her. 
Just a moment — and I brushed my eyes, — and then the 
dream was o'er. 
But I've always loved the clover, for before the dream 
was over 
I have seen her stand there smiling, with a smile I've 
longed to see 
All these many years, and stooping where were clover 
blossoms drooping 
She would gather up an armful there and shower 
them on me. 



83 



A Field of Clover 



So I passed the field of clover, and the dream it brought 

was over, 
And the morning-glory cottage lost to view behind a 

hill, 
But there stayed, the day and morrow, like the bitter 

sweet of sorrow. 
Something soft and sweet and gentle that my heart may 

cherish still. 
May has come and June — September; and there comes 

the bleak December, 
With its Christmas and its candles and the lights upon 

the tree, 
And all dead may be the clover, but the dream I may 

dream over, 
Till the Cottage door stands open and a girl there 

smiles at me. 



84 



Hymn of Praise 



Father of mine, who mayst Thou be, 
What glory in Thy love for me; 
Thy green turf for my carpet laid, 
Thy trees outspread for rest and shade; 
Thy music in the flow of seas. 
Thy summer skies for canopies; 
Thy flowers that glorify my day. 
Thy birds for song, to cheer my way; 
Thy bees to sip my flowers and be 
My exemplars of industry. 

Father of mine, bid me be glad 
For every song the wild bird had! 
Teach me the beauty Thou hast set 
In every rose and violet. 
Help me by patient industry 
To be companion with the bee, 
And let me pass each day an hour 
In gratitude for wayside flower, 
The skylark's song, the drip of rain 
And for the sickle in the grain. 



85 



Song of Hope 



Bring me no song of tears, 

Fling me no sorrows. 
Wing me no Yesteryears, 

Sing me To-morrows! 
Pipe me a merry lay, 

Tune no heart's aching. 
Bid me look up and say: 

"Hope! Dawn is breaking!" 

Croon me no lullabies, 

Moon me no dreaming, 
Tune me the spreading skies 

Hopefully gleaming. 
Lull me with Sorrow's voice 

Not into sleeping. 
Bid me awake, rejoice, 

Joy in my keeping. 

Not ash of dead desire, 

Not flown Septembers, 
Light me a living fire. 

Heap me no embers. 
Bring from no twilight gray 

Cloaks for dead sorrow. 
Sing of the Dawn and Day, 

Hope and To-morrow! 



86 



Cherry Blossom Time 



Somehow my fancy bids me write a story in a rhyme, 
Of bells and laughter and of tears in cherry blossom 

time, 
Almost I hear the laughter ring and distant bells to 

chime. 

Nor did I hear those bells to ring, nor did the laughter 

hear, 
But when she told me of it all, it was so real and clear! 
She told me. Oh, so long ago, and yet it seems so near! 

And she was just a girl, she said! How strange it was 

to me. 
As I sat there and listened close, sat down there by her 

knee, 
To think of her as just a girl — this mother-girl of me! 

And then a bride, and so the bells, the laughter and the 

tears. 
And always all those after days that music in her ears 
Was sweet and clear and never died, through all the days 

and years. 

It was in cherry blossom time, and all the trees were 

white. 
As though the snows had drifted them with flakes all 

through the night. 



87 



Cherry Blossom Time 



And as the blossoms was her heart, her bride's heart, 
pure and light. 

She was a bride in blossom time, and heard the church 

bells chime. 
How fair it is to be a bride in cherry blossom time! 
Nor did I dream, the time she told, of making it a rhyme. 

And now the bells hung silent and the marriage feast 

was done. 
And she went forth from Home that day to build another 

one, 
As lads and lassies all have gone since time was first 

begun. 

All this she told me at her knee who sat. She stopped to 

throw 
Them kisses long as she could see that time she turned 

to go. 
All this the day she was a bride where cherry blossoms 

blow. 

And one last kiss her mother gave, as mothers have to do 
When brides go forth to make a home; her father's last 

kiss, too, 
Was hers that day so long ago when blossom time was 

new. 



88 



Cherry Blossom Time 



And then she smiled at me who sat there listening at her 

knee, 
While tear drops glistened on her cheek I wondered 

much to see, 
For it was cherry blossom time that time she told it me. 

And then she wiped the tears away and said: "I was to 

see 
Them all at cherry blossom time again, when I should 

be 
A year away perhaps, or two, or it might grow to three!" 

"And did you go in blossom time and was it not all 

fair?" 
She stooped and kissed me as I spoke and smiled and 

stroked my hair, 
And said: "How many times the trees have blosssomed 

for them there!" 

"But it was far, so far away! And babies came — one, 

two, 
Three, four and five; and there was always much for us 

to do. 
And there was home to make and keep for little tads like 

you! 



89 



Cherry Blossom Time 



"But at some cherry blossom time I shall go back, I 

know," 
She said, "When all the trees are thick with bloom and 

white like snow, 
And we shall hear the bells again as they rang long ago. 

"And they shall kiss me once again, and they shall kiss 

you, too; 
Yes, we shall all go back some day when blossom time 

is new, 
And we shall, all of us, be glad, and all the dreams come 

true." 

* * * 

And one sad day she fell asleep, and I who write this 

rhyme. 
Kissed her with streaming eyes and she heard olden 

church bells chime. 
And told me so, and I knew then 'twas cherry blossom 

time. 

And often I can see her now, when blossom time is fair. 
With tears and laughter in her eyes and blossoms in her 

hair. 
Just as she told me, at her knee when I sat listening there. 



90 



Cherry Blossom Time 



Her heart was sweet as blossoms were; her soul as pure 

and light! 
The dream of her may God keep now and always, blest 

and bright 
As she would have my soul to be — as her soul was — pure 

white ! 



91 



Mahmoud of Ispahan 



The great Mahmoud of Ispahan, 
In ancient rays a mighty man, 
By tribesmen called the Unafraid, 
Unsheathed his glittering sword and laid 
It by his couch; his limbs were cold. 
His shriveled skin was dry and old, 
His years four score and ten and one, 
His eyes turned to the setting sun 
That not again the day should span 
For great Mahmoud of Ispahan. 

Afar the temples were whose plan 

Was of Mahmoud of Ispahan, 

And fell the sunset on the land, 

All red like blood upon the sand. 

As though the slain did bleed again 

For Mahmoud and his mighty men, 

Whose swords drank blood as men drink wine 

Made from all Persia's choicest vine, 

Blood of his enemies that ran 

For great Mahmoud of Ispahan. 

And now in Persia was no man 
Great as Mahmoud of Ispahan, 
No prince or tribesman who might give 
Him battle in that land, and live. 
His glittering sword that by him lay 
Had slain its hundreds in a day, 



92 



Mahmoud of Ispahan 



Until that mighty arm arose 
Half-palsied from the furious blows, 
Nor gold nor slave nor caravan 
Escaped Mahmoud of Ispahan. 

He called aloud for Belkorzan, 

The wisest in all Ispahan, 

Scribe to Mahmoud, and hoary seer 

To whom all things of life were clear. 

" 'Tis I, Mahmoud, wise Belkorzan, 

'Tis I, Mahmoud, of Ispahan, 

My sword beside me and my breath 

Soon to keep life's sworn pledge with Death; 

My epitaph 'tis you shall plan. 

Plan for Mahmoud of Ispahan." 

"My tomb is hewn, and Belkorzan 
Shall carve the truth that Ispahan 
May know the all that may be said 
Of Mahmoud, when he shall be dead; 
Aye — you shall write in words sublime 
That mighty men through all of time 
Shall have the utmost truth to scan 
Of me, Mahmoud, of Ispahan. 
Swear, Belkorzan, that truth to say 
Of Mahmoud, mightiest of his day!" 



93 



M a h m u d of Ispahan 



There stands the tomb and Ispahan 
May read of its once mightiest man, 
In letters high upraised and spanned 
By centuries of sun and sand, 
Yet clear as carved by Belkorzan 
The wisest in all Ispahan, 
Who kept the oath he swore to write 
The truth in words of living light: 
"The dust enclosed was once a man, 
By name, Mahmoud, of Ispahan!" 



A Song of Every Day 



Since there are clean lives needed, I will live one, 
I will not doubt or quit or fear or drift. 

For who may need a glad smile, I will give one, 
Myself, in helping others, I'll uplift. 

Since there are glad souls wanted, I will be one, 
I will not frown or scold, but I will cheer 

Some downcast soul when I may chance to see one,- 
I will do this Today, and now, and here! 

Since some may be unkind, I will bring kindness. 

To what I say or do, solmehow, someway. 
I will not ever close my eyes in blindness 

To all the good about me every day. 
Since some are weak, then I will be the stronger 

To help the frail who grope the way along. 
Since some are sad, then must I smile the longer. 

And never lose the spirit of my song. 

Since glad songs are so needed, I will sing one, 

The tasks appointed me I'll strive to do, 
Since we need joyous spirits I will bring one, 

And keep it sunny, steadfast, strong and true. 
I will be quick to help who is in trouble, 

I will have love and cheer and sympathy, 
And, all the good I do will straightway double: 

'Twill uplift whom I help and uplift me. 



95 



Song of Friendship 



Not tomorrow, Friend, I pray! 
Do not tarry — come today! 
Who shall say if I shall be 
Here for long to welcome thee? 
Will the love that thou mayst bring 
Be for us a better thing 
If we tarry longer? Nay! 
Not tomorrow ! Come today ! 

Why tomorrow? Tell me when 
This today shall come again. 
If this happiness foregone 
Shall return another dawn. 
On tomorrow canst thou bring 
Food for this day's hungering? 
Does love breathe a sweeter lay 
On tomorrow than today? 

Do not tarry. Friend, I pray. 
Till tomorrow! Come today! 
Come with eagerness and smile. 
Nor delay till after while. 
Who shall say where I may be 
On tomorrow? Come to me 
With that friendly word to say, 
Not tomorrow — come today! 



96 



Song of Friendship 

Why tomorrow? Wilt thou be 
Any dearer then to me? 
Wilt thou see with clearer eye 
In the little time gone by? 
Little, yet so long 'tis far 
As the immeasurable star, 
For all time may not declare 
There is any morrow there! 

Dost thou love me, Friend, and let 
This day go, nor tell me yet. 
When tomorrow may not be. 
Nor be love or light for me? 
That be dust in one brief hour 
That was even then a flower? 
Wilt thou bring me ashes? Nay! 
Not tomorrow — come today! 

If thou lovest, wouldst thou say 
Thou wilt love me yesterday? 
Nay! Because 'tis naught! — but 'tis 
No more naught than morrow is! 
Thou canst love me, much or how 
Once alone and that is now! 
Do not tarry. Friend, I pray 
Not tomorrow — come today. 



97 



The Place of Broken Things 



I have a little attic room 

Up somewhere in my mind, 
It's shrouded thickly o'er with gloom, 

And I could never find 
A single thing I've put in there 

Far from the light of day. 
That's why I have that attic where 

I hide those things away. 

I put in there the broken things. 

That naught of skill can mend, 
Cracked pots, bent pans, old hurts and strings,- 

All useless things I send 
Straightway into the attic roo(m 

To grieve me never more, 
And leave them shrouded with the gloom 

All back of that closed door. 

Old dreams that died, to live no more, 

And tarnished friendships, too. 
Whereon one time I set much store 

But found they were untrue. 
Keen disappointments and old days. 

That would bring me some tears. 
If they were open to my gaze. 

And some sad, bygone years. 



98 



The Place of Broken Things 



And cherished hopes that once I had 

But proved like bubbles blown, 
With a short life, to make me glad 

And then in dust were flown. 
And long healed scars, regrets and tears, 

That one time seemed the doom 
Of all I longed for through the years, 

All in my attic room. 

I've put them there, a goodly store 

Of sorrows, crumpled wings, 
Dead dreams, flown hopes and many more 

Outworn and broken things. 
And there I've laid them in the gloom 

To moulder and decay. 
And I have shut that attic room 

And turned my steps away. 



99 



Unfit 



Life — rude and ragged garment of my soul. 
Ill-fitting, spotted, full of rents and tears; — 
Patterned for me the cloak my spirit wears 
When I had voice nor choice, if it be whole 
Or patched with furious passions and the thread 
Of evil circumstance. 

Some grandsire dead 
An hundred years mayhap willed me the rents 
Of sloth and weakness and unbridled sense; 
Yet Honor bids me now forth to the field 
To wrest the victory from mail and shield 
And sword; — me in my wretched nakedness! 
Nor Honor's sateless greed content with less. 

Let me strip off these wretched rags and cast 
Them on the dust and rubbish heap of years 
To rot with all their stains of futile tears, 
Choose mine own knightly armor at the last, 
And I will shame thee with my victory 
As now, my Honor, oft thou shamest me! 



100 



The Secret 



Little woman with the smile — 

Simple, steadfast and serene; 
Knowing envy, hate nor guile, 

Mistress, counselor and queen 
In that royal family 

Of strong sons and daughters fair, 
What the secret? Tell it me, — 

I would tell it everywhere. 

I have sought and I have found. 

Studied, pondered, cast away; 
Dreams have compassed me around, 

Wisdom has said yea or nay; 
I have pondered by the lore 

Of the sages ages through; 
What the secret? Is it more 

Than the wise men know, or knew? 

Surely not at Learning's shrine 

You have gained that soul so fair, 
For I made her secret mine 

But your glory was not there. 
Burned I long the lamp at night. 

Many a waste and weary while. 
Seeking, searching for the light 

That illumines your each smile. 



101 



The Secret 



Learning has it not, I say, 

Nor ambition has, or Pride, 
For I searched them night and day 

And I cast them all aside. 
Power you have not, or place, 

Wealth, Fame, Honor or Degree, 
Yet the glory of your face! 

What the secret? Tell it me. 

Yours the thinly buttered crust 

Of near need and toil and care, 
But the miser's hoard is dust 

By this Secret that you share. 
You, whose kingdom is the hearth, 

With the nearby chair your throne! 
And the wise men seek through earth 

For this peace, and this alone. 

Little woman with the smile. 

That with glory lights Love's way, 
Will you walk with me a while 

In the darkness of my day. 
I would let the sages go 

Where the Ways of Wisdom be, 
Read your book of Life and know 

What the Secret. — Tell it me! 



102 



Before the Winter Came 



I often think of him as where 
The flowers are and laughing there, 
As when by wood and field he strayed 
To pluck bright blossoms that he laid 
Within my hands and cried his glee 
O'er each new blossom brought to me. 

I think of him as when in Spring 
I saw him somewhere beckoning 
With chubby hand upraised, for me 
To come and see a yellow bee 
Or gorgeous butterfly or bird 
Upon some twig or branch that stirred. 

And in the twilight to my chair. 
When I'm alone and dreaming there, 
He comes and whispers low to me 
Of all that was and was to be 
Before the Winter came and he 
Went with the blossom and the bee. 

And sometimes I am sure I feel 

His chubby fingers as they steal 

Their way to mine and clasp mine tight 

And close as clinging ivy might 

About a twig, till he shall keep 

The tryst of youth with dreams and sleep. 



103 



Before the Winter Came 



So in that dim and quiet hour 
He brings me many a gathered flower 
Until my hands are full with bloom, 
And odors fill the twilit room 
With memories grown sweeter yet, 
As dew gleams on a violet. 

So let me sit this hour and fill 
My soul with fancy if I will, 
And let this memory abide 
Of flowered path and him beside, 
For in this hour 'twill be the same 
As then — before the Winter came. 



104 



The Masquerade 



The night is merry with their cries, 

With clamor and with din; 
The dancers masked with every guise 

Are whirling out and in; 
The Lords and Beggars, Fools and Wise 

All in a mob displayed, 
Till Midnight strikes — drops each disguise — 

'Tis all a masquerade. 

The Fool was not a Fool, but wise. 

As we may plainly see; 
The Beggar's rags were but the guise 

Of his sham poverty; 
The Sage's garb but cloaked the Fool, 

Whose witless soul has strayed 
To mount for us the dunce's stool — 

'Twas all a masquerade. 

That knight who clanked the armor in, 

A coward looks, somehow. 
He who danced there as Harlequin 

Seems not so merry now; 
She who was sprightly, gay and fair 

When glad the music played, 
Is wrinkled and with thin gray hair — 

Yes — 'twas a masquerade. 



105 



The Masquerade 



And now the dancers are all dumb. 

The music dies away; 
The night is gone, the dawn has come, 

The world of every day; 
But still by street and lane and town 

The game of life is played, 
Each with his mask of smile or frown — - 

'Tis Life — ^the masquerade! 

The Broken-heart in smiling guise 

That would conceal its pain; 
The Fool who masquerades as Wise, 

That Soul with its red stain 
Of sham and cheat and hate and greed 

The part of Virtue played, 
That velvet cloak that covered Need — 

'Tis much a masquerade. 

The Coward with the armor on 

Who trembles in his shoes; 
The Clown, whose soul is bleak and wan, 

Yet cackles like a goose; 
And when the voices all are dumb. 

The game of day is played, 
And masks stripped off when Midnight's come, 

'Twas all a masquerade. 



106 



The Masquerade 



And gladness with once merry wile 

Came with hot tears just now, 
And fell upon her knees the while, 

The jewels from her brow 
All stripped and torn; and humbled so, 

Knelt in the night and prayed: 
"God grant us peace, as Thou mayst know,- 

Have done with masquerade!" 



107 



Tomorrow 



Dear Little Lady, we'll shed no more tears, 

Let us have done with our crying, 
I know that life has its frets and its fears. 

We shall not cure them with sighing; 
Dear Little Lady, come dry your wet eyes. 

Put by that sad, bitter sorrow, 
Come and sit by me, nor see the gray skies, 

They shall be brighter tomorrow. 

Blest Little Boy with that bruise on your knee, 

And that sore toe that is smarting. 
Won't you come closer and sit here by me. 

While those hot tear drops are starting; 
Blest Little Boy, if the day has no cheer. 

Some from the future we'll borrow, 
I tell you truly as I'm sitting here. 

You will be happy tomorrow. 

Sad Little Dreamer whose face is all wet, 

Wet with the hot tear drops falling. 
Not a dream come true to gladden you yet — 

I can hear Hope clearly calling; 
Sad Little Dreamer, she's calling to you. 

Bidding you put by your sorrow. 
All of your dreams of today shall come true, 

They shall come true on tomorrow. 



108 



Tomorrow 



Come all ye children and listen to me, 

Little folks, wet-cheeked and sobbing. 
Come with the sore heart and still aching knee, 

I know the pain hotly throbbing; 
Come and sit by me, for I have known youth, 

Youth with its heart-breaking sorrow, 
Come and believe what I say is but truth — 

These will be made well tomorrow. 

Frail Little Soul of mine, sick with its strife. 
Timid and weary and sighing. 

Faint with the day's heavy burden of life, 
Deep in the dim valleys crying; 

Frail Little Soul of mine, we, too, will rise, 
Up from the valleys of sorrow, 

Strive on and dream on and come near the skies- 
Life will be gladder tomorrow! 



109 



Yesterday 



The seasons change, as dead leaves play, 

The world moves on, the pathways wind. 
And over there sits Yesterday 

Her fingers with dead garlands twined; 
Pathetic, sorrowful and sweet 

She looks once upward and away. 
Where time moves on with dancing feet 

Nor looks the once at Yesterday. 

Within her lap she holds the joys 

That were but never more shall be, 
The dreams and all the broken toys, 

Shrined in the heart of Memory; 
Here is a curl, a look, a smile. 

That came and was and went away, 
The laughter of some merry while. 

Left in the lap of Yesterday. 

Perhaps a mellow song she sings. 

Some old and quite forgotten air, 
A wandering breeze at twilight brings 

Soft fingers playing with her hair; 
And voices whisper and she hears 

The loves that were but could not stay; 
What sad songs murmur in her ears, 

The songs we sang but Yesterday. 



110 



Yesterday 



And Oh, such dreams she has to hold 

Within the lap of her the while, 
The dreams of cheer, of courage bold, 

Of great worlds conquered with a smile. 
She lets them trickle from her hands. 

The once while their rare colors play, 
And many as the ocean's sands, 

The dreams we left with Yesterday. 

She sits, the sunset in her eyes 

Of every day that used to be, 
And every day a new day dies 

And she shrines it in Memory; 
She lets them trickle from her hands. 

While all their tints and colors play, 
As on a beach of jeweled sands 

Cast up from seas of Yesterday. 



Ill 



Last Verse of All 



Good by! Your hand! 

You understand. 

You know the things I want to say, 

But somehow, in my heart today 

The words stick fast and will not come. 

I say good by and then am dumb. 

I want you to be glad and blest, 

And — well, I know you know the rest. 

Good luck! For you 

May skies be blue, 

And sunshine light your every way. 

I wish I had the words to say 

What's in my heart — but tears will fall. 

And so I say "good luck" — that's all! 

I take with me the memory 

Of all real friendship means to me. 

Hello! Who knows? 
Day comes and goes 
And brings its laughter and its tears. 
Who knows the harvest of the years? 
It may be here — it may be there — 
It may be soon, or late, or ne'er. 
And if it should be ne'er — well, then 
Good by! And here's my hand again. 



112 



Post printing « Binding Co. 
Pasadena 



